


No Good For Me

by OzQueen



Category: Captain Planet and the Planeteers
Genre: Angry Sex, Drinking Games, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, F/M, Post-Canon, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-05
Updated: 2010-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:58:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/pseuds/OzQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't want a relationship and he's not in love with her. But it's Linka, and there has always been something between them and maybe there always will be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Good For Me

**Author's Note:**

> Special dedication to Kaiame for being totally amazing.  
> Title taken from "No Good For Me" by The Corrs - which is actually about someone wanting a relationship, but the chorus just suited this story too much for me to ignore it.

 

_It’s a fantasy_

_Not a reality_

_And it’s no good_

_No, no good for me_

_You have no idea_

 

 xXx

It had been eight long days of dirty, wearying work. The Planeteers had returned to Hope Island grimy and cranky with aches and pains and exhaustion.

Wheeler and Linka were ready to kill one another.

He wasn’t sure what had started it, this time. Another flippant remark he’d made – something flirtatious or something dripping with sarcasm. Who cared anymore? Seven years into this job and you’d think they’d have each other figured out by now.

But her temper was short anyway – more so than usual. He’d figured it was because she hadn’t been able to see _Grant_ for a while. Wheeler didn’t like him. It wasn’t because he had Linka – it was because he was a smug jackass.

Maybe he’d let a few too many derogatory comments slide by and Linka had finally had enough.

They’d been back on the island three days by the time the others had piled into the geo-cruiser, fed up with the bickering and icy tension. Wheeler wasn’t sure where they’d gone. Just that he and Linka weren’t welcome to their company until they’d sorted things out.

Seven years they’d been trying to sort something out. At this rate, the others would never be back at all.

 

xXx

 

Linka looked up as Wheeler strode into the kitchen.  His shoulders were tense and his mouth was pressed into a thin line, and she instantly shifted into a mood of defensive fury.

“Well?” he snapped.

“Well what?” she asked, glaring at him. “If you think it is up to me to apologise, Wheeler, you –”

“It’s certainly not up to me,” he retorted. “You think every time you get into a pissy mood you can just stand back and I’ll come runnin’ in with an apology? Sorry, toots. Don’t work that way.”

“Then I suppose the others will be gone a little longer,” she said icily, turning her back and marching past him, tense with anger and frustration. She wasn’t sure what the hell was going on anymore, but she wasn’t going to be the one to back down in an effort to find out.

He grabbed her arm and her own momentum swung her around to face him again. She swore at him in Russian and tugged away and he circled around the kitchen table, his eyes locked on hers.

“Walk out and I’ll follow you,” he said softly. “Sick of this, Linka. So sick of it.”

“You think I enjoy it?” she asked icily. “You need to grow up.”

“You need to ease off,” he snapped. “I’m sick of you biting my head off every time I open my fucking mouth.”

“Maybe you should stop using your mouth to flirt with me one moment and tear me down at another!” she shouted, clenching her fists at her sides. “Do you like playing this game with me, Wheeler? Do you like trying to confuse me and flatter me and hurt me all in the same day?”

He looked furious, as though he could hardly believe she hadn’t caved yet.

“I never know when you are telling me the truth,” she said, getting in another blow before he could recover. She looked angry and oddly exhilarated, as though she enjoyed his anger and his discomfort.

He glanced around the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the shelf above the counter.

“You want some truth?” he asked. “Here we go. Let’s get some truth.”

“Because drinking with you seems like such a good idea, right now,” she said sarcastically.

He slid a shot glass full of vodka across the table to her. “Maybe if you’re drunk you’ll start saying some things you mean, instead of a heap of shit designed to hurt my feelings.”

She glared at him and then in one quick movement, drained the glass. He did the same, glaring back at her with matched anger.

“You do not have feelings,” she scoffed. “How can you possibly complain about me when it is _you_ messing with _me_, Wheeler? You flirt with me and then the moment another pretty girl walks past, you are doing the exact same thing to her!”

“Who cares?” he snapped, sloshing more vodka into the glasses. “Complimenting you means I have to stop at complimenting others, does it?”

“Compliment,” she said, giving a bitter laugh. “Compliment?”

“Whatever,” he snapped. “This is it then, is it? You’re gonna be pissed with me until I stop looking at other women?”

She gave him a look of such fire and ice he drained his glass again merely to break eye contact with her. She hastily followed him, breathing deeply as she let the vodka roll down her throat.

He poured another shot.

“You honestly do not see why I am upset with you?” she asked.

“Maybe it’s misdirected,” he answered swiftly. “Maybe you’re pissed at Grant and I’m the one that has to cop all the irritable bullshit because he’s not around.”

She drained her glass again. “You are a pig,” she whispered.

“You’re bossy and you never wanna have any fun,” he accused, slamming his shot glass back onto the counter.

“_You_ are stubborn, and you wish to have _too much_ fun!” Linka answered, narrowing her eyes and skating her glass back towards him.

He filled the glasses again and she drained hers immediately, keeping one furiously-sparking eye on him.

“I can be serious!” he said, swallowing his next shot.

“Your solution to this is to have a drinking contest,” she said, and he thought he saw the hint of a smile playing around her lips before she caught herself and frowned at him again.

He grinned, suddenly. “I’m serious when it matters,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and he filled her glass again.

“You never want to joke around and have fun anymore,” he said, and this time when he spoke there was no anger. Just fact.

She bristled. “That is not true!”

“When was the last time we had fun together then, huh?”

She threw her glass back again, letting the vodka burn and roll its way down her throat. Her eyes watered at the haste of it.

“You think I can only have fun with you?” she asked accusingly, her voice husky with the alcohol.

Wheeler swigged directly from the bottle this time and she watched his throat pulse twice as he swallowed.

“You have fun with Grant, do you?” he asked. His voice was breathless and she knew the alcohol was starting to affect him. She could feel it running and burning hot through her own veins.

“_Da,_ I do,” she snapped suddenly.

“Yeah, I bet you do,” he whispered, his eyes locked on hers.

For a furious moment she wanted to slap him and curse, but she restrained herself, biting verbally instead of physically. “You are jealous,” she said, and she could sense the sneer on her face and she hated herself for it. She watched him pour her another shot of vodka, but she didn’t want it.

“Jealous,” he scoffed. “You think after seven years I’ve still got a hard on for you? Flirting doesn’t mean anything. Don’t flatter yourself, Linka.” He swigged from the bottle again and her anger and resentment caused her to tip the shot glass into her mouth and swallow again.

Wheeler looked at her. The tip of her nose was rosy and like him, she was slurring just slightly. The intensity in the air between them seemed to increase their intoxication.

“If you gave up then why are we doing this?” she asked angrily. “Why is there always tension between us?”

He reached over and hooked his finger under the collar of her t-shirt, tugging the fabric towards him and causing her to dip forward in surprise, her hips locked against the edge of the table. There wasn’t enough stretch in the material to offer him any view of the skin beneath, but that wasn’t what he was after anyway. He wasn’t sure _what_ had prompted him to reach out like that, but with one finger suddenly he had control and the way her eyes had widened and the way the silence was thick between them now reaffirmed his confidence.

“Tension,” he agreed softly. “Not love.”

“I did not say love,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly.

“No. Good.”

“You love me?” She asked the question in a tone that seemed terrified. She could easily tug out of his reach, but she didn’t. He wondered what that meant.

“No more than I love the others,” he answered. “Like a friend. But not like a friend. Like Linka.”

She gazed back at him and nodded slowly and he felt a rush of heady relief at not having to explain this complicated _thing_ they had between them.

He grinned lazily and he could feel the vodka rushing through him, diluting his blood so he was dizzy with each breath of oxygen. “You’re a babe,” he whispered. “But my heart won’t ever be broken over you.”

She pulled away slightly and his finger straightened, letting her t-shirt slip back against her throat. She felt shaky and hot and alive. She was drunk and she cursed her impulsiveness and anger for allowing her to be so reckless and fall into such a trap.

“I would not want to break your heart,” she admitted. “But I have never been sure of your feelings for me.”

“I flirt with other girls too,” he whispered, leaning across the table. He ran his eyes over her face. “You get jealous.”

“_Nyet_,” she whispered.

“Uh-huh.” He nodded and she looked away, down at his hands, which were palm-down on the surface of the table.

It was a mistake, looking at his hands. They were strong and wide and his fingers were long and slender. Scars and freckles and dotted his knuckles – hard work and a short temper providing plenty of knocks and collisions which had left physical reminders behind on his skin. For a moment she wanted to feel the rough touch of his callused hands against her own soft skin and she flushed at the thought and swept her eyes back up to his.

“I get jealous,” she admitted. “But I do not love you.”

He nodded in agreement and understanding. “So this is what we’ve got, huh? Endless arguing and bickering that drives the others away and leaves us drunk in the kitchen.”

She gazed back at him solemnly. If she’d been in a better mood, she’d have giggled at the absurdity. But there was an ache in her stomach that kept her tense and breathless.

“That is not all we should be,” she whispered desperately. “We should have more than that.”

He stepped around the table and in two paces had her pressed against the wall, his arms either side of her. He kept his body away but looked down at her, scrutinising her from a distance so short she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

Alcohol was on their breath, heavy and wet between them. In so short a time they’d drained half the bottle and it was still spiralling them upwards.

“Do you love Grant?” he asked.

She ran the sentence through her head again, trying in vain to pick it apart and analyse his tone.

“I am not sure,” she said. Then, “No.”

“No?”

She looked up at him. He felt momentary surprise by her use of the English negative. Then he realised what the answer meant and he still didn’t know how he felt.

He was being honest when he said he didn’t love her. Not in the way she had asked him, anyway. He didn’t want a relationship with her and he didn’t ever picture himself marrying her and settling down. They’d drive each other crazy. Too alike and too different; complements and contradictions. But it was Linka, and she was always in his mind and always in his dreams. She was a fantasy rather than a reality.

He’d take a bullet for her. He was pretty certain she understood that and he thought that the sentiment could probably be reversed. They loved one another in a way that developed from deep trust and understanding and commitment. Working together and living together.

But it wasn’t Love with a capital L. It wasn’t soul mates and marriage and children and time aching for her. He had never really felt that. He cared about her more than anyone. Furiously protective and admiring.

She annoyed the shit out of him sometimes and for some irritating reason that only strengthened the bond between them.

“Why are you with him, if you don’t love him?” Wheeler asked, remembering what he’d asked and her surprising response.

“Who should I be with?” she asked, sounding angry again.

He shook his head, indicating he didn’t want another screaming match, and kept his voice soft. “Don’t answer my question with another question,” he said.

That damn lazy grin of his spread across his face again. She felt hot and uncomfortable, trapped in the small prison he’d made with his arms. He hadn’t touched her yet and she squirmed in her own skin, hot and trembling with the closeness of him.

She lowered her eyes. “I am not with him anymore.”

His mind raced for a moment. “You okay?” he asked. Not asking why she wasn’t with him or what had happened – just if she was okay.

She nodded. “It was too difficult,” she answered.

He nodded. “He didn’t hurt you or cheat on you or treat you badly or anythin’, did he?”

She rolled her eyes, feeling prickly again due to his closeness and the scrutiny of something she had wished to keep secret for a little longer. “I ended it,” she said. “I am not as delicate as you think I am.”

“I’m not callin’ you delicate!” he retorted, pulling back a little. His arms stayed either side of her.

“What do you want?” she asked suddenly, and she sounded teary and upset. “All this fighting all the time; all this tension! I do not understand you! What do you _want_?”

He wasn’t sure. But everything in that moment was so tense and hot and _physical_ he couldn’t help himself. He grabbed her face gently in his hands and pressed his mouth against her.

She left out a short huff of surprise but it only took a split second before she’d opened her mouth against him and allowed his tongue past her lips.

Thought rushed out of his mind entirely and he moved on raw instinct and desire. He moved closer to her, pressing her body between his and the wall, deepening the kiss and physical contact with her.

She was drunk. She knew she was drunk, and somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear her logical self telling her that kissing Wheeler, touching Wheeler, fucking Wheeler, was not a good idea.

But it was so much better than fighting.

He moved his hands roughly down her sides, his fingers scraping over her t-shirt before he slid his palms beneath the material and over her skin, running them over her back. She could feel every scar and callus and rough spot on his skin and it all sent hot thrills and sparks through her body.

Her fingers clenched into his hair, holding him to her and tilting him against her so she could angle both herself and him into a position that suited her.

His hands widened against her skin and pulled her hips against him, and she could feel the hard heat of him through his jeans and against her lower belly.

They broke for air and she let out a helpless little gasp, the voice of protest whimpering past her red-flushed lips. “We should not...”

He kissed her again, bruising and domineering, shifting her body upwards so she was raised against the wall. Her thighs spread and he pressed between them, holding her up with his weight, one hand moving to slip beneath her for support, the other moving upwards to the thin cotton of her bra.

He pinched her nipple through the material and she squirmed and made a soft noise against his mouth, her breath hot and wet with his. Her fingers threaded through his hair, her nails against his scalp.

He grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt suddenly, arching away and whipping it up over her head. The movement wrenched at her shoulder and she felt a momentary flare of pain, but it was forgotten as soon as his hands were on her skin again.

She found herself tightening her legs around his waist, wriggling her hips closer to him. Her body burned and she felt hot and ultra-sensitive to every tiny movement he made against her.

He pulled away, pinning her hips to the wall with his own, pulling at the front of her shorts and sliding the zip down hastily.

Any thoughts of protest were long gone from each of their minds. She straightened her legs enough for him to tug the fabric away before she tightened her thighs around his hips again. She could feel the rough slide of denim against her skin and the heat of his body radiated through the material.

He pinched her nipple again, grinding his fingernails against the thin cotton of her bra, and she bucked and shivered. He slid one hand up over her shoulder and tangled his fingers into her hair, pulling her head back so her back arched and her throat was exposed to him. He pressed his mouth against her pulse and sucked lightly, bringing warmth to the surface and leaving a red mark against her skin.

He dragged his hand down her back, lifting her with one hand hooked beneath her thigh and parting their bodies just enough to slip his other hand between them.

He grinned against her neck and bit her shoulder gently, leaving another faint mark on her skin. “You’re wet.”

She opened her mouth breathlessly, not sure what was going to come out of it, but any response she had in mind was swept away and replaced by a soft whimper, her hips rolling slightly as he curled two fingers up inside her. She clenched her hands, digging her nails into his shoulders and not caring what he thought about her reaction to him.

He struggled for a moment with the front of his jeans, shoving them downwards and hoisting her again, holding her thighs and pinning her to the wall with his weight. He looked up and caught her eye and the moment sparked between them.

_This is probably a bad idea._

She twined her fingers into his hair and pulled him to her, opening her mouth slightly and sighing through her nose as his tongue touched against hers.

He moved into her achingly slowly, holding her firmly so she couldn’t move against him. He could feel her squirming and shifting restlessly until their hips were flush against one another, bare skin against bare skin. Her body twitched and tightened around him and he buried his face in her neck, his breath deep and hot on her shoulder.

“Fast,” she whispered.

He nipped her with his teeth and thrust against her and her breath left her in a loud _Oh._

She wrapped her legs around him again and he moved his hands to her hips, tilting her forwards and directing her movements against him. He could hear her back thumping against the wall whenever he drove forward, her breath expelling in short, hot bursts against his shoulder. She dragged her nails through his hair, over his scalp, and he felt his skin and his nerves jumping and crawling at the sensation.

She whispered something desperately – something in Russian; words he’d never heard her use before, and her teeth pressed against his skin. He hoisted her higher, increasing his pace, sweat and heat causing his body to slide and move against her skin.

Her breath was rhythmic and desperate, hot words and whimpers against his shoulder. It was Russian, but he knew what it meant. _Please, please, please..._

Her breath and the panting and whimpering against his neck and his ear was causing his stomach to tighten and flip and he knew if she didn’t come soon, he was going to.

He pulled her hips towards him again, tilting her body before he thrust again, hard and deep.

She arched her back, her mouth falling open in a noiseless gasp, and she rode the waves of heat that flooded through her, feeling her muscles spasm and tighten, her body rippling around him and against him before she sank back against the wall, her arms limp around his shoulders as she tried to catch her breath.

She heard his breath catch in his throat and his muscles tensed and went rigid before he finally bucked and shuddered against her, his body sinking and melting into her as his breath swept hot and close against her skin.

“Fuck,” he gasped softly, his face against her neck.

Her heart was still hammering and she was still fighting to regain her breath – something made more difficult and more wonderful by the fact his weight was on her and pressing her into the wall.

Gradually, he released his hold, and her legs slowly unfolded and reached the ground again, though they trembled under her own body weight.

She bent to pick up her shorts, stepping into them quickly and sliding them over her hips. When she looked up, he had straightened his clothing and was leaning against the edge of the table, looking at her.

He held her shirt out wordlessly and she pulled it on.

She bit her lip and ran her hands through her hair, not sure what to do. The dizzying effects of the vodka were already forgotten, though her body still tingled and throbbed with the effects Wheeler had presented.

He reached across and pulled her forward with an arm around her waist, bending to kiss her again with an open mouth. She leaned into him, relieved at delaying any need for talk.

She felt his hand against the small of her back again, his skin upon hers.

“What now?” he asked softly, his fingers sliding beneath the waistband of her shorts.

She shook her head wordlessly. She didn’t know.

“You okay?”

She nodded.

“Not in love with me, are you?”

“_Bozhe moy_,” she said, laughing a little and shoving him away. “_Nyet._”

He grinned and shrugged. “Just makin’ sure.”

She shrugged. “Nothing has to change. Does it?”

“Nope. If you’re sure you’re okay with that.”

She shot him a look. “Why should it be a problem for me?”

“I just want to make sure,” he clarified. “I don’t want you pissed at me later.”

She rolled her eyes, but settled on him again with a fierce glare. “I do not want the others to find out.”

He held up his hands. “Okay.”

“I do not want you to go and brag about it.”

“I won’t,” he said. “But I don’t want you to forget it, either. That was fucking hot.”

She tried to fix another icy glare upon him, but giggled helplessly. “Grow up, Wheeler.”

xXx


End file.
